


A Convenient Solution

by roqueamadi



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Humor, M/M, Season/Series 04, Sexual Tension, Tywin POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 17:33:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18743761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roqueamadi/pseuds/roqueamadi
Summary: Tywin has a problem. The rumoured relationship between Jaime and Cersei is unacceptable, whether it's true or not. Fortunately, a solution is presented to him in the unlikely form of an ex-sellsword-turned-knight who seems to have something more than a casual friendship with his son.Tywin thinks he just might be able to work with this.





	A Convenient Solution

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly had no idea how to tag this, so please let me know if I've left out anything essential.
> 
> I wrote this *ages* ago and could never quite get it right, but just had another crack at it tonight and I'm happy to say it's finally done. Huge thanks to my beta [sarcasm_for_free](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasm_for_free/pseuds/sarcasm_for_free) who is probably like 'you're posting this NOW?' (or has completely forgotten about it) but the feedback was really helpful regardless!  
> Anyway, hope you like it!

Tywin was feeling old.

It was late, and he had been working since before dawn. Most of the Red Keep would be asleep by now. He left his study, turned to lock the door behind him, and then paused. There were voices just down the hall. He recognised the gruff voice of Bronn, the ex-city watch commander. And the lighter, more melodic voice was Jaime’s.

He leaned forward enough to see around the corner. Down the hall, Jaime stood with his back against the wall, and Bronn had one palm planted casually by Jaime’s head, leaning toward him as they talked. Tywin couldn’t make out the words—his hearing wasn’t what it used to be—but he didn’t need to. Bronn’s body language was, in Tywin’s opinion, obvious.

The conversation ended with Jaime blushing and slipping away. Bronn turned, frowning to himself, and started up the hall towards Tywin. Tywin took a step back and waited in the shadows for Bronn to turn the corner.

He drew some small amusement from watching the ex-sellsword jump slightly and come to a sudden halt when he saw Tywin standing there.

“My Lord,” Bronn greeted cautiously.

_“That_ did not go well,” Tywin stated.

He watched the play of thoughts across Bronn’s face. It was subtle, but Tywin was good at reading people. “What didn’t, my Lord?” Bronn finally replied, perfectly neutral.

Tywin took a step forward. Bronn stood his ground. “Your flirting,” he clarified, waving a hand in the direction Bronn had come from. “Is that not what you were doing?”

Bronn’s face steeled over. “Not sure what you mean, my Lord. We were just talking.”

Tywin raised an eyebrow. “Come,” he said, turning back to the door to his study. “Have a drink with me.”

He watched the man out of the corner of his eye as he followed Tywin cautiously into the room and closed the door behind them. It was obvious that he was ready to go for his knife any second, his eyes darting around the room, expecting some kind of trap. Tywin monitored his body language, made sure to move non-threateningly, as he poured two glasses of wine at the sideboard and motioned Bronn over to sit opposite him at his desk.

“So,” Tywin said, placing a glass in front of each of them. “Is my son receptive to your advances?”

“I haven’t made any advances, my Lord. I don’t know what you mean.” Bronn didn’t touch the wine.

Tywin sighed. A different angle, then. “Let me explain,” he said, and sipped the wine. “I’m sure you’ve heard some nasty rumours about my children.”

“People talk,” Bronn said noncommittally.

Tywin did not want to think about it, but he couldn’t deny the facts that had become apparent to him. Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen were very likely Jaime’s. He didn’t understand it; didn’t _want_ to understand it. But there was nothing to be done about it now. Now, he had to figure out what could be done about the future.

“And?” he prompted.

Bronn’s mouth twisted. “People will say all kinds of things, my Lord. Doesn’t mean they’re true.”

Tywin repressed an eye roll. “That may be the case,” he said, neutral. He waved at the glass. “Come, drink the wine. There is no trick here. I would like to make you an offer.”

Bronn picked up the glass, but still didn’t drink it. “An offer?”

“Here I am, presented with a problem,” Tywin said pointedly. “There are rumours about my children. And now, I am presented with a person who may be capable of fully occupying one of my children’s time in that respect. So, I ask again: is Jaime receptive to your advances?”

Bronn chewed his cheek for several seconds before he finally took a gulp of the wine, lowered it, and said, “Wouldn’t bother trying if I didn’t think he might be.”

_Finally._ “Good,” Tywin said, aloud. “And if you were to put your full efforts into fulfilling my son’s _needs_ in that respect to such an extent that, whatever has happened in the past, he would be unlikely to seek it elsewhere, then I could provide _you_ with…?”

“A castle,” Bronn helpfully supplied.

“Done.”

Tywin downed his glass, and Bronn did the same, before standing to go.

“I’ll expect weekly progress reports,” Tywin said before he left.

He thought Bronn might have blushed slightly, at that.

 

Bronn was punctual and intuitive. Tywin could, at least grudgingly, see what Tyrion (and, perhaps, Jaime) liked about him. He turned up at Tywin’s study exactly one week later, at an appropriately late hour when there would be few people around to question the purpose of their meeting.

“I assume you are cautious about checking for tails,” Tywin said, waving a hand at the sideboard as Bronn closed the door behind him.

“Aye,” Bronn said, pouring two glasses and passing one to Tywin as he sat down opposite his desk again. “Anyone who tries following me is in for a nasty surprise.”

“Good.” Tywin sipped the wine and raised his eyebrows. “So?”

“So. I’m making progress, but—” he tilted his head with a wince, “he’s a tough one. It’s not like wooing some tavern wench. It’ll take time.”

Tywin scowled. “How much time?”

Bronn shrugged. “Hard to say. I could probably bed him now, if I really tried. But I’m not just trying to get a one-night stand out of him, am I? Isn’t that our deal? You want him permanently out of commission as far as anyone else is concerned, right? Well, that takes time.”

Tywin repressed a snort at the words ‘out of commission’. “You think you can make him fall in love with you?” he asked, deliberately.

Bronn’s jaw clenched. “I wouldn’t be _making_ him.”

Tywin sat back, mildly amused. “I’ve offended you. I’d remind you that a castle was promised out of this.”

“Aye.”

“But you’re ambitious. You want the castle and you want the…” he struggled for the best word. _“Romance._ Well, I can respect that. But time is of the essence—I want to hear as soon as possible that Jaime won’t be engaging in any _activities_ with anyone else. Am I understood?”

“Perfectly,” Bronn replied, resolute.

 

A week later, Tywin walked past a window looking on to one of the private courtyards and noted the sound of sparring swords clashing. He paused by the window to observe; outside, his son was sparring with the sellsword.

Jaime’s technique was poor. Whatever he’d said about simply switching to his left hand had been a lie, but it was nothing Tywin hadn’t already suspected. As he watched, Bronn disarmed him and knocked him to the ground, followed him down. He pinned him against the grass.

Jaime lay there breathlessly, his cheeks flushed. There was no danger of him noticing Tywin standing in the window; he had eyes only for the sellsword.

Bronn said something in a low voice that made Jaime’s cheeks flush a deeper red, and leaned close enough that Jaime must have felt his breath against his lips… then he withdrew.

He got to his feet, shot something over his shoulder, and strutted out of the courtyard, leaving Jaime lying there on his back.

The sellsword's cockiness faltered when he turned into the hall and saw Tywin, halting abruptly.

“You just left him there,” Tywin said, neutrally. “You could have kissed him then.”

“I coulda,” Bronn agreed. “But this game is more about what you don’t do then what you do.”

Tywin nodded shortly. “No need to meet tonight,” he said, and continued on his way down the hall. He didn’t miss Bronn’s satisfied smirk as he passed.

 

The next time they met in his study, Bronn tossed a pair of white underclothes down on Tywin’s desk triumphantly.

“Thought you’d like proof.”

Tywin carefully removed his papers from under the offending garment. “Your word would have been sufficient,” he said mildly, though he couldn’t bring himself to be truly irritated. This was a positive development for his plan.

Bronn shrugged, tucking the fabric back into his pocket. “It happened just last night,” he said, happily. “Took him down to the markets along the docks, we had oysters, watched the sunset—”

“I don’t need details,” Tywin interrupted, holding up his hand, amused at the sellsword’s dreamy expression. “Is this your guarantee that he’s… secured?”

“Not quite,” Bronn said, sincerely. “It’s a fragile time. I need to play the next few days right.”

Tywin highly doubted that anything about this was a ‘play’ for Bronn, but he respected perfectionism, so he was happy to wait a little longer.

 

One week later, Tywin was on the way to his study. He had he door halfway open before he froze, then turned and closed it silently again. The image, whether he wanted it or not, was burned into his mind.

Bronn had Jaime bent over Tywin’s desk, his pants around his ankles, and their angle was such that Tywin had been unable to miss seeing the smooth glide of Bronn’s cock into Jaime’s arse. It was an image he could have done without. He couldn't see Bronn’s expression, but he assumed the sellsword was satisfied.

Jaime’s face was turned to the side, his eyes closed, his cheeks flushed pink, and Tywin was beset with a sudden volley of unwanted memories. He could almost see himself in his son’s expression there, back when he had been happy, when he had a wife who loved him, when he had been with someone he wasn’t paying.

He pushed the thoughts aside and focused on his goals, like usual. Bronn would separate Jaime from his sister, and it would become much easier to influence his son if he could do it via his lover.

Things were starting to come together.

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment and let me know what you thought, or chat with me [on Tumblr!](https://roqueamadi.tumblr.com/) ^_^


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